


A tale as old as you and I

by SmilinStar



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stefan Salvatore meets Caroline Forbes aged eight years old. And not one of them knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A tale as old as you and I

\-----

**June 22 nd 1856**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

“Damon?”

 

He's answered by the sound of birdsong and buzzing insects.

 

The summer heat has the thin cotton of his shirt sticking to his back, his throat is parched and his small legs are aching from however long they have been out here. He can't tell the time, Father having not gifted him a pocket watch yet.

 

Too expensive and not for little boys, he'd been told.

 

And besides, he'd laughed, “You boy? Know how to tell the time, do you?”

 

Why yes, he does. Damon had taught him last winter when they had been trapped indoors with little to do and much time to while away. But he hadn't told him so, knows Father would have considered it an impertinence.

 

“Brother?” he calls again, “Please come out, I do not wish to play any more.”

 

Again, nothing but the sound of summer bringing the woods of Mystic Falls alive meets his call.

 

He tries not to panic.

 

He is a lot braver than Damon's daily taunts and teases would make everyone believe, although it would appear he is sadly just as gullible.

 

He thinks his older brother's enthusiasm for a round of hide-and-seek had been nothing but a ploy to run away and defy Father's request that he watch after him today while he and Mother are in town on business.

 

He lifts himself from his sitting position and heads back along the path that he had followed to find his hiding spot. He wanders for several minutes, sure of his direction, but when the sight of the Salvatore Estate does not come into view, there is no stopping the panic from building.

 

It doesn't help matters much when out of nowhere there is the unmistakeable bang of a rifle, much too close. It echoes around him, birds scatter, fleeing, and his instincts have him doing the same.

 

He runs, and runs, doesn't care in which direction.

 

Just runs.

 

Or course, in his haste, he trips over the raised buttress roots of a tree and lands awkwardly on the forest floor. A sharp shooting pain in his left ankle has him crying out, and this time there's no stopping the tears that fall and the fear that has his heart racing in his ears.

 

“Damon!” he calls out again, and again.

 

Several minutes pass and his cries fall quiet. But then just as he starts to lose hope that no one is coming for him, there is the nearby rustle and crunch of leaves and the light sound of nearing footsteps.

 

“Help!” he calls out frantically peering in the direction of the sound, his view obscured by the bright sunlight dappling through the leaves of the tall trees, “Please somebody help me!”

 

And then suddenly and all at once there is a shadow in front of him, blocking the sun. He stares up at golden hair framed by the rays of light, making the edges of their silhouette glow as if aflame.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

It's a girl.

 

She crouches in front of him, and he furiously wipes the tears from his face.

 

“You're a girl,” he states in answer.

 

She giggles, it's light and tinkles like his mother's wind chimes.

 

He looks across at her face as she kneels on the ground in front of him.

 

He thinks she may be the same age as he, maybe younger.

 

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asks.

 

The smile on her face drops, and is replaced by offence and irritation. “What are _you_ doing here?” she asks instead.

 

“I was playing with my brother.”

 

“Well so was I,” she says, “But not with my brother. I don't have a brother.”

 

“But by yourself?” he asks.

 

She looks down at herself, at her white dress covered in streaks of dirt and looks back up at him, eyes narrowed, “Why? Because I'm a girl?”

 

“Yes,” he answers simply.

 

She frowns at him angrily and moves to stand up.

 

“Wait! Where are you going?”

 

“Well I'm a girl, therefore I must be useless. How can I possibly help you?”

 

Her arms are folded across her chest and her blue eyes are dark in their anger.

 

He swallows, says “I'm sorry,” and shifts to try and stand up, only to fall back with a cry.

 

The girl is back by his side in an instant, all anger from mere moments ago forgotten just like that, “Oh dear, what have you done? You're hurt!”

 

She presses at his ankle indecorously and he winces, “Ow!”

 

She doesn't apologise, sits back on her knees with a thoughtful expression on her face and says, “Father is out here hunting, I'll go fetch him.”

 

She moves to stand up, but panic seizes again and he shouts out, “Wait! Please don't leave!”

 

“I have to go, but here,” she says, and then she's reaching up around her neck, and he watches on confused as she takes the silver chain and blue pendant off her neck. Leaning down, she opens up his palm and drops it there.

 

“What's this?”

 

She smiles, “It'll keep you safe.”

 

He looks down at the sparkling blue crystal in his hand and back up at her. He thinks she must be mad if she believes such a thing, but instead he says, “I can't take this.”

 

“I'll come back for it, I promise.”

 

And before he can argue, she runs off.

 

If she does ever come back, he never finds out.

 

Damon, attacked by a guilty conscience, finally returns for him not five minutes after.

 

He chides him for getting injured but then mumbles an apology, before pulling him up and carrying him home.

 

Stefan looks back the entire way.

 

He doesn't see her once.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Stefan Salvatore meets Caroline Forbes aged eight years old.

 

And not one of them knows.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**May 3 rd 1858**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

He doesn't show.

 

It's Mother's funeral and Damon doesn't show.

 

Stefan tries not to cry, feels Father's eyes on him the entire time.

 

His head hurts from trying to keep the tears away. It's a pressure that builds behind his eyes and an ache that settles in his chest.

 

And he doesn't understand.

 

Why?

 

Why did she have to die?

 

She wasn't supposed to die.

 

Father Adams puts a comforting hand on his right shoulder and tells him she's with the angels now.

 

It doesn't help.

 

His own Father squeezes a heavy hand to his left, forcing him to turn around, and move away from the closed casket once the ceremony is done.

 

“Come,” is all he says, as he pushes him down the steps and down the centre aisle.

 

He walks slowly beside his father, pays no attention to the people either side.

 

It's only when he nears the door, he looks up for a moment, and there in the back pew, he sees a flash of blonde and a sad, kind smile.

 

It's only a flash of a moment though, and one he can't fully comprehend because he's out of the church doors before he knows it, staring down and out at Mystic Falls.

 

It doesn't look any different.

 

He thinks it should.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**July 16 th 1864**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

“Ooh, this is pretty!”

 

Stefan sits on the edge of his bed, watches as the beautiful, charming seductress, also known as Miss Katherine Pierce, takes a turn about his room.

 

Highly proper of course, for a young unwed lady to be wandering about a gentleman's room. But then, they've already jumped straight from being improper to ultimate heathens given their current state of undress and their earlier activities.

 

He's not sure, of course, what she's referring to.

 

Her back is turned and his eyes are fixed on the loosened ties of her corset and the dark brown locks that fall across the bared skin.

 

She turns then, the trinket hanging from her fingers.

 

The light catches the crystal and the sparkle of blue has his memory jolting back nearly ten years in a flash.

 

Something twists in his gut.

 

And suddenly he doesn't want her touching it any more.

 

He jumps forward, pulls it out of her hand and spins her around.

 

At her confused glance, he smiles, tilts his head down and captures her lips in a kiss, “Come back to bed,” he murmurs.

 

Katherine's grin is wide and wicked, “My my Mr Salvatore, I do believe I have succeeded in corrupting you completely.”

 

“I believe you have,” he whispers, pulling her down onto the bed with him, and the pendant is long forgotten.

 

 

\----

 

 

He finds out later that she hadn't succeeded in corrupting him completely.

 

No.

 

No, that happens two months later, when she seals his fate with her blood in his, Father's bullet to his chest and a raging hunger that he has an eternity to battle.

 

 

**\-----**

**December 11 th 1924**

**Chicago** **, Illinois**

 

 

 

 

He's high on blood and champagne.

 

All around him is decadence and excess.

 

Be it greed, gluttony, lust.

 

It's the devil's playground and he's loving every second of it. All his senses are obliterated and he doesn't have to feel a thing, not unless he wants to.

 

The music is loud enough and Gloria's voice easily travels to every corner of the speakeasy that it almost masks the sound of his thumping heart.

 

He says almost only because the smile on Rebekah's face is smug at best and she knows exactly what her tongue on his skin, and the scratch of her fangs is doing to him.

 

He grabs hold of her hands as they drift downwards and tugs her in close. “My turn,” he says with a slow, lazy smile.

 

He leans in closer, his lips ghosting over hers before pulling back. She pouts, “Tease.”

 

He laughs before curling his fingers back around her face, letting his own mouth fall to the curve of her neck.

 

He doesn't get very far though, interrupted as they are yet again by Klaus, Rebekah's older brother.

 

“Do I really want to be seeing that?” he asks with a frown.

 

Stefan pulls away, stretches his arm across the seat as he leans back. There's an amused twitch of his lips, “I don't know, you tell me. Your timing is impeccable as always.”

 

Rebekah laughs into her gloved hand.

 

Klaus doesn't find the humour in it. He glowers at Stefan, before turning on his sister, “Rebekah, love, go fetch us some more drinks will you?”

 

Predictably, she answers with a “No, get it yourself Nik, I'm not your servant!”

 

Klaus responds in kind with a growl, and a “Rebekah, now.”

 

And there must be something in his expression that has the blonde standing up and doing as she's told, albeit unhappily and not without a sense of protest in the stomp of her feet as she walks away towards the bar.

 

Stefan continues to look mildly amused by the sibling antics.

 

Klaus takes a seat next to him, leans in conspiratorially and says, “I've found a blonde of my own.”

 

He raises a brow, feigning interest, “Oh really?”

 

He nods, and points a finger in the opposite direction.

 

He's not sure why but there is an unmistakeable shudder in his chest, almost as if his heart skips a beat. It's ridiculous, of course. He doesn't care.

 

Doesn't care that the woman standing just there on the periphery of the dance floor, a sad, lonely smile on her red lips may just be the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes on. It's not just her outward appearance though, it's something _more_ that he can't place.

 

“Isn't she the most glorious creature you've ever seen?” Klaus says and he's positively salivating.

 

Stefan doesn't answer either way. Instead takes another sip of his drink, and replies as casually as he can, “Well what are you doing here then?”

 

And the expression on Klaus' face is something else, embarrassment possibly but he must be seeing things. He must be.

 

“She turned me down.”

 

He tries and fails not to grin. And even as he says it, somehow it sounds wrong, “Why don't you compel her then?”

 

“Because,” Klaus says with a sigh, “Where's the fun in that? The fun is in all the games and seduction, my friend. Compulsion is too easy. No, I want her to fall madly in love with me and then I'll rip into her pretty little neck when she's gasping my name.”

 

Stefan swallows down the last of his champagne. It tastes bitter.

 

“You can be my wingman.”

 

“What?” he laughs.

 

“Go on. Go talk to her for me.”

 

Klaus looks at him with wide, pleading eyes and although the smile on his lips is teasing, there's an ulterior undercurrent swimming beneath it, as always.

 

“Fine,” Stefan relents, placing the glass back down on the table.

 

He slides out of the booth and walks down towards her, doesn't spare Klaus a backward glance.

 

She doesn't see him approach, she just stands there silently, hands clasped together watching the flappers dance away.

 

He sidles up to her, tilts his head and with a low voice asks, “Why don't you join them?”

 

She doesn't startle at his voice or proximity, but she doesn't turn to face him either, just carries on watching, “I don't dance.”

 

“I don't believe that, beautiful woman such as yourself, I'm sure men are lining around the building to dance with you.”

 

“I didn't say they weren't, but feel free to add yourself to the queue there behind your British gentleman friend.”

 

He laughs, surprised. Maybe, even a little impressed.

 

“No offence, darling, but if you hate dancing, why are you watching them with such unabashed longing?”

 

She laughs then, tilts her head back and he can't help but stare at the expanse of neck, and the pretty lips parted in amusement. She shakes her head and finally turns to look up at him.

 

He's struck by the blue of her eyes.

 

It's a shade he's seen before, somewhere, but can't remember.

 

“I said I don't dance, not that I hated dancing.”

 

“Well, why _don't_ you dance?”

 

“Because,” she says, looking straight back at him, “I haven't found the right partner.”

 

And the thought just flashes through him, unwanted and without warning.

 

_Me. You're looking for me._

He buries that thought though, feels Klaus' eyes on him and remembers why he's here. But before he can even say a word, she smiles, “And no sadly, it isn't your friend over there.”

 

He opens his mouth to laughter, stares at her in open wonder.

 

She smiles back, but the expression shifts ever so slightly. Her eyes roving over his face and he feels like she's peeling apart each layer of skin, trying to see underneath.

 

“And I dare say,” she continues after a long moment of silent scrutiny, “I don't think he's the right partner for you either.”

 

The smile drops.

 

She leans in closer then, reaches up to whisper in his ear, the heat of her breath blowing over his skin, “I think you're better than you pretend to be.”

 

She moves away. He opens his mouth to ask how she can possibly know that, but she's gone.

 

He spins on the spot, searching the crowds, but she's nowhere to be seen.

 

Something tickles the back of his mind, but he dismisses the thought before it can fully form in his mind.

 

“Well, what happened?” Klaus asks when he gets back to his seat.

 

He doesn't get to answer then as panic suddenly fills the room, and shouts of “Police!” filter through the music.

 

The blonde is all but forgotten in the chaos.

 

And when Klaus compels away his memories before fleeing Chicago, she's lost altogether.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**June 25 th 1995**

**Wembley, London**

 

 

 

 

The crowd is buzzing with excitement, counting down the minutes to the start of the concert.

 

He's not sure why he's doing this.

 

Again.

 

Nostalgia, he thinks.

 

He's missing Lexi, and he's not sure how trying to re-live their 1987 Jon Bon Jovi concert without her is supposed to help. Different city, different crowd but same band and same choruses, it still sums to a total of one missing blonde.

 

Still, he thinks, wherever she was right now, she'd be cheering him on with a “Hell yeah!” Because, according to his best friend, he was sorely lacking in the 'knowing when and how to have fun' department.

 

He's in the pit at the front, close enough to the stage and it's the best place to be.

 

Well, unless you're a vampire with ripper tendencies, of course.

 

Problem with being stuck in a sardine can is that he's surrounded by throbbing pulse after pulse. And though Damon's plans to derail him hadn't succeeded, he had still run across an ocean to escape him, and his faith in his own restraint is shaky at best.

 

This, he realises, is a terrible idea.

 

Taking a deep breath, Stefan turns on his feet, tries to push past the crowds towards one of the many exits, but finds his path blocked at every turn.

 

The lights dim then, and the strobe lights come on, and there's a roar of excitement practically lifting the crowd. The familiar strains of a guitar riff plays through the huge stadium, and the roar gets even louder and he feels it vibrate through every cell in his body.

 

“Where are you going?” Someone shouts into his ear through cupped hands, “Concert's just starting!”

 

He looks down to his left and finds a smiling blonde looking back at him.

 

There's a second when the easy, natural turn of her lips drops. She realises it though, picks up the corners of her mouth again, but it isn't quite the same. There's a cautious tint to her eyes and he in turn feels unease prickling down his spine.

 

Unwittingly he mimics her guarded smile, and he can't shake this feeling that _she knows him_.

 

“Do I know you?” he asks.

 

There's a moment of hesitation, “No, not really,” she answers.

 

And it's the tacked on 'not really' that has his heart thundering away in his chest.

 

The better question would have been, “Have we met before?” but it's too late now, she's reaching out a hand. Her split second decision about him apparently made up.

 

He could compel her, he knows

 

“Hi, I'm Caroline.”

 

He shakes her hand. The smile she throws back at him is bright and genuine, and in that moment he decides to let it go and let it be what it may be.

 

“Stefan,” he replies.

 

“So a Bon Jovi fan?”

 

“Would I be here if I weren't?”

 

“Oh I don't know, you trying to run away a minute ago makes me wonder if you were dragged here against your will?”

 

He laughs, but she continues, “Girlfriend? No, boyfriend, maybe?”

 

There's a teasing tone to her words, and he can't help the twitch of his lips. It happens without any thought at all, “No, no significant other.”

 

“Really?” she says with raised eyebrows, and it isn't a look of interest but more one of disbelief, “A guy like you?”

 

He shakes his head, “What do you mean a guy like me?”

 

She looks him up and down and then back again, meets his gaze and winks.

 

He feels his cheeks burn, and it's completely ridiculous, but she only grins wider at his reaction.

 

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and she actually laughs, threads an arm through his and drags him forward.

 

“Come on this is going to be fun,” she promises.

 

It's half way through the concert when he realises that it really is.

 

Fun.

 

She's a bright and bubbly force of nature and utterly infectious.

 

He's actually dancing and jumping along to the music, shouting the words along with everyone else, though he can't sing worth a penny.

 

He's completely unguarded and it's freeing.

 

He imagines if Lexi were here, she'd be grinning in approval, although he can still hear the teasing, “So I see I've been replaced by another blonde . . .” that would probably leave her lips at the sight of his new companion.

 

Speaking of.

 

She's currently sitting astride his shoulders, swaying along to the song and he can't help but laugh.

 

Her jean clad thighs are safe in his grasp and she weighs hardly a thing, especially for someone _like him._

 

“Having fun up there?”

 

She tilts her head down, blonde hair tumbling down in waves as she does.

 

She smiles and his stomach does a funny little flip, “Yep!”

 

She stays up there for a little longer, before she kicks him slightly in the chest, her unspoken request to get down, which he's supposed to know apparently.

 

He grouses, “I'm not a horse.”

 

She laughs as she manages to get to her feet, but somehow in the twisting and turning and tangle of limbs, she ends up flush against him. Her eyes hold his, and it's her turn to blush pink, and though he'd had passing thoughts all night, he can't help but think it now. She is remarkably pretty. The kind that is giving him butterflies and it's utterly insane.

 

 _She's a stranger_ , he tells himself.

 

 _You're being ridiculous,_ he chides.

_You're just sad and lonely,_ he adds.

 

And that may be so, but then why does it feel like he's known her his entire life?

 

The finale is starting to wind up now and he feels the energy buzzing under his skin, urging him to action. To do _something_. Namely kiss her. And he doesn't know where the urge comes from, but he's living in the moment. And she's there, staring up at him, and he's there, and he _wants_ this.

 

And so he does it.

 

He kisses her.

 

Grabs hold of her face, tilts it up to meet his and presses his lips to hers.

 

There are fireworks going off outside the open air stadium, and he would have laughed at the symbolism were it not for the fact she starts kissing him back. Her arms wind their way around his neck and she presses into him.

 

When she pulls away, she's as breathless as he and stares up at him in wonder.

 

He thinks he's looking back at her the same.

 

He swallows down some much needed air and bites the bullet, “So . . . concerts over.”

 

She bites her lip, “I noticed.”

 

“Do you wanna go grab something to eat?”

 

“Like a date?”

 

And he thinks _why the hell not?_ “Yes.”

 

“Sure,” she says with a smile, and then, “Just one condition though.”

 

“And what's that?”

 

She tilts her head to the side, and says entirely serious all of a sudden, “Don't go falling in love with me.”

 

The laugh that falls from his lips is a mixture of puzzlement and surprise, but he shakes his head and says, “Not a problem.”

 

It's a lie, but he doesn't know that.

 

Not yet, anyway.

 

She smiles wide, “Okay, great, just let me pop to the rest-room and I promise, I'll be back.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He watches her go, thinks he sees her turn back to look at him once in the crowd, but he can't be too sure.

 

All he is sure of is the sinking feeling in his gut that tells him she won't be coming back.

 

Hours later, and he's proved right.

 

She doesn't.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**November 17 th 2009**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

“So what do you think?”

 

“About what?” Stefan asks.

 

“About Bonnie's birthday party!” Elena answers through the door of her bathroom. He hears the shower head turning off and the shuffle of towel and clothes.

 

“You really want to have it at the Boarding House? You really think that's a good idea?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Five letters, shares their first with the devil, one letter away from demon.”

 

He hears her giggle and he smiles as he spins about her room, taking in the various trophies and ribbons she has displayed.

 

“True,” she concedes, “But what if you talk to him?”

 

He can hear the pleading tone, and he's a sucker for it.

 

A sucker for Elena, Damon would say.

 

“Fine, I'll try, but I don't like your chances.”

 

“I love you!” she replies happily, and he smiles at the warmth blossoming in his chest.

 

He stops spinning around the room when he reaches her desk. There's an open box of photos, and the first is of a smiling Bonnie and Elena in their cheerleading outfits. He picks them up, looking through them.

 

“These are cute,” he says when he hears the bathroom door open, and Elena pads out in her pyjamas.

 

She looks over his shoulder, towelling her hair, “Yeah, they're from last year.”

 

There are various photos of Elena, Bonnie, even a few of Matt and Tyler, but they're not the ones that catch his attention and make his heart shudder to a stop in his chest.

 

“Uh who's this?” he asks, his voice remarkably steady, hiding his turmoil well.

 

Elena looks back from where she's sitting on her bed, “Um, oh that's Caroline.”

 

“Caroline?” he asks, and he's not sure his heart has started beating again.

 

“Yeah Caroline Forbes, she transferred here for a semester last year, visiting family but I think she's actually back in Paris now, studying Art & Design or something.”

 

“Forbes?”

 

“Yeah, as in one of the Founding Families. She's great, talks a lot, loves partying, between you and I, a little bit of a control freak, but she's great fun. I kinda actually miss having her around. With everything that's happened this year, I think Mystic Falls could do a bit with her cheer.”

 

He's not really paying much attention beyond the part about her surname and her heritage and when Elena walks over to him and places his arms around his neck and moves to kiss him, he barely remembers to react.

 

“You wanna snuggle up and watch a movie?”

 

“Sure,” he says.

 

But his mind is spinning, and there's only one conclusion.

 

Caroline.

 

Caroline Forbes.

 

The girl he spent an amazing evening with years ago, the girl with the bright blonde hair and smile to match, the girl who somehow always seemed to creep into his mind at the most random of times, just when he'd thought he'd forgotten all about her.

 

The girl in the photo who hadn't aged a day since he'd last seen her.

 

That girl.

 

That Caroline.

 

She isn't any other girl.

 

No.

 

She's a vampire.

 

Like him.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**August 6 th 2011**

**Midwestern U.S.A.**

It's hot and humid, and unbearably sticky this evening.

 

Sticky just like the blood smeared across the top of the bar.

 

Stefan sucks the remnants of their latest toy off his fingers, then wipes the stain off his lapis lazuli ring on the hem of his t-shirt.

 

He doesn't even know where he is any more.

 

Klaus appears to still not have had his fill of Midwestern dive bars, though he thinks it's been nearly three months now, and this whole routine is getting old.

 

Klaus may have compelled him to be his lap dog, but that doesn't stop him from making his distaste and utter boredom known at every opportunity he gets.

 

He watches as he bleeds the last of the patrons dry, wipes the last drop from the corner of his mouth with his thumb and looks for all the world like it's the best drink he's ever had.

 

Stefan rolls his eyes, “You finished yet?”

 

“I don't know what's gotten you so impatient, my friend, but no we're not done yet.”

 

He looks around the bar, arms wide as he spins on the spot, cocks his head as if to say, “Really? There's nothing left here any more.”

 

Klaus smiles, “I'm waiting for someone.”

 

“Yeah? Who?”

 

“Me. He's waiting for me.”

 

He recognises the voice. Even after all this time, but it doesn't sound like her.

 

No it sounds hard and angry, and he's almost afraid to turn around, because maybe he had gotten it wrong. Maybe that girl in the picture wasn't the same Caroline who had been so full of life and hope and who had made him open his heart to the possibility of finding someone again. Maybe that girl didn't have to be the same dark, twisted monster as he.

 

He takes a breath and turns.

 

She's not looking at him though and somehow that makes this easier.

 

She's staring only at Klaus and it's with a burning hatred that has him surprised the recipient isn't even flinching.

 

“So you've got me here, now what?”

 

“You are a hard woman to track down Miss Forbes, but I did tell you I wouldn't give up so easily.”

 

She laughs, and it sounds hollow and he feels it just the same, “Yeah, chasing me down from town to town, murdering all my innocent friends, what a way to get a girl's attention! How utterly romantic!”

 

“Come now,” Klaus says, “I tore through entire states for you, surely that counts for something, love.”

 

And then, Stefan finally thinks he understands what it is he's been doing all these months and he feels sick to his stomach with the realisation.

 

There's the sound of boot heels on wooden floor, and an old country record still playing faintly in the background as she steps forward towards the man who still hadn't given up the chase, “I told you then, I'm telling you now, it's _never_ going to happen.”

 

“Always playing so hard to get. It's part of your eternal charm.”

 

Klaus turns back to Stefan then and says, “You remember now, don't you? Chicago, the roaring twenties, this one,” he points to Caroline, “Was going to be my prize conquest. Turns out she's not as innocent as she seems, one of our very own, who would have thought?”

 

He remembers now, of course.

 

Klaus having undone all the compulsion from years ago allowed all the pieces to come back together bit by bit. He hadn't thought too much about the memory of the beautiful, sad and lonely girl standing by the dance floor until now. Had never put two and two together, meshed that girl with the one he'd met in London, and come out with the Caroline Forbes who stood here now.

 

He turns to look at her, but she won't look back in his direction.

 

His mind is a field of questions. Questions, he worries, he'll never get answers to with the kind of mood Klaus is currently in.

 

He worries what his next step will be. He's a proud man, and Caroline has been mocking him for decades.

 

Stefan doesn't have to wait long to find out. Klaus takes that final step towards her and in a flash he has his hand in her chest wall, squeezing around her heart as she stands there on shaking legs with wide eyes, gasping in pain.

 

He can't help the instinctive step he takes forward, but finds he can do nothing more but watch as Klaus turns suspicious eyes back on him.

 

He schools his face to passive boredom and once satisfied, Klaus turns back to the blonde woman in his grasp. “I had hoped,” he says, “For a much more pleasant way to get my hands on this.” He squeezes again to make his point, and there are tears now running down her face.

 

“But I guess I'll have to make do with this-”

 

“Wait!” Stefan shouts out, and Klaus turns back in surprise.

 

He's not sure what he's running on, but he knows he'll regret it for the rest of his life if he just stands idly by. And so he lies. Lies the best he ever has.

 

“Wait,” he says again, lowering his voice, and hardening his expression, “Why spoil all the potential fun?”

 

Klaus looks mildly interested and so he forges forward, “I should at least get to have mine first.”

 

“Why?” he asks, suspicious again.

 

“Oh you don't know the story! Funny thing,” he says, snapping a leg off an upturned chair and stalking closer, “This one here? A real heart-breaker. London, 1995. Left me high and dry after an evening of song and dance and fireworks. It was magic, it really was,” he looks at her then, and of course she chooses that moment to meet his eyes, but he continues on, doesn't let his gaze falter, “For years I wondered if she'd been a witch, put me under some sort of spell. I didn't sleep for weeks, couldn't eat, it was utter misery.”

 

He stops in front of her, Klaus having pulled his hand out long ago and taken a step back to the side with a smile. The end of his makeshift stake is pressing against her chest, and her wet, blue eyes are a mix of emotions he can't tease apart. What he can see clearly though is sadness and . . . regret.

 

“I did warn you,” she says softly.

 

The way she looks at him with those words has his heart racing a mile a minute and he knows she can hear it.

 

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

 

It all happens so fast then that it all becomes one blur of action.

 

Caroline twists the stake out of his grasp, vamp speeds in less than a millisecond and jams the piece of wood into Klaus' neck. The Original vampire, not expecting such a move, is momentarily knocked to his feet, giving her enough time to flee, the bar door blown wide open in her wake.

 

He immediately drops to Klaus' side, keeps up his charade, “Do you want me to go after her?”

 

Klaus shakes his head, “No, leave it. I'll find her.”

 

Stefan silently hopes that she runs and she runs and that he never does.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**February 14 th 2012**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

 

 

 

 

He's angry and he's hurt.

 

Betrayed, but then that isn't even an emotion, it's a state of being.

 

Elena and Damon.

 

He should have seen it coming.

 

And he had. Oh he had, he just hadn't wanted to believe it.

 

He had loved her. Desperately. He had.

 

Which is why it surprises him that he can't even muster up an ounce of sadness for the disintegration of their relationship.

 

It's just anger.

 

He lifts up one of his glasses of bourbon and hurls it at the wall. It's satisfying to watch the crystal shatter but he doesn't feel any better.

 

The fact that he's stuck here in the same house, probably isn't helping.

 

Thankfully neither of them are here to witness his meltdown, but he needs to do something. He knows he can't live like this.

 

“This place still here? Wow.”

 

The voice startles him out of his thoughts, has him standing up and whirling around to face his intruder, ready to attack if need be.

 

He hadn't even heard the door open, so deep had he been in his wallowing.

 

“You guys should really lock the front door. Or you know get a human owner, anyone could just walk right in.”

 

“Anyone did,” he answers.

 

“Ouch,” she says, stepping into the living room, “I guess I deserved that.”

 

“Yeah,” he breathes out, and he doesn't even know he's doing it. It might be because he hasn't done it in ages, but he's smiling.

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi.”

 

She looks the same. More like how he remembers her in London, and less like the woman being hunted to the ends of the Earth by Klaus. There's no red stain of seeping blood on her chest either this time.

 

“How did you find me?” he asks.

 

She takes another step into the living room, “Who says I was looking for you?”

 

He purses his lips, trying to smother the smile and nods, “Right.”

 

“Stefan _Salvatore_ ,” she says, emphasising his last name, “Not that hard to find.”

 

“Mmm, Caroline _Forbes,_ you on the other hand, surprisingly difficult to.”

 

“Well,” she shrugs, “I've been running.”

 

“Yeah, which begs the question, why you're here now? You do realise Klaus is in town, right?”

 

She walks around the room, and he spins slowly to watch her. “I know,” is all she says and nothing else, and he knows there's more to that story than she's willing to spill.

 

“Who are you?” he just says, blurting it out in frustration.

 

“You have a lot of questions,” she answers instead, taking one of the armchairs.

 

“Years of them.”

 

She smiles, “Well, good thing we live a _very long_ time then.”

 

He sits back on the sofa across from her, “Except you have this habit of disappearing all the time for years at a time.”

 

“Or maybe,” she leans forward, “You're looking at it all wrong.”

 

“Really?”

 

She nods, but no further explanation is forthcoming.

 

“So what now?” he asks.

 

A beat passes as she ponders his question, and then she just comes right out with it;

 

“Friends?”

 

He laughs, and his chest doesn't feel as congested with the anger and hurt that had been weighing him down only moments ago.

 

“Just like that?” he asks.

 

She nods, “Yep.”

 

“Sure,” he says, but he's not finished, “Just one condition though.” She bites her lower lip, and his eyes follow, “Don't go falling in love with me.”

 

He sees the recognition hit, and the blush on her cheeks is wonderful. She shakes her head, “Not a problem.”

 

He laughs.

 

“You're damaged goods anyway,” she says.

 

“Excuse me?” he asks in mock affront.

 

“Elena,” she curls her tongue around the name.

 

He frowns, “How do you know about that?”

 

“I have my ways.”

 

“I'm sure you do.”

 

“But seriously Stefan? Are you really going to carry on living _here?_ ”

 

And at her emphasis, he knows what she's really saying is, are you really going to keep living here with Elena, the supposed epic love of your life, and the brother who stole her from you? The answer according to Caroline is clearly a “Hell no!”

 

He doesn't answer her but she seems to have made up her mind for him.

 

Standing up she nods her head in the direction of the door, “Come on.”

 

He doesn't have to think about it too hard.

 

It's crazy, because really what are they?

 

Two strangers that keep bumping into each other and a whole truckload of questions with no answers.

 

Still, he finds himself standing and following, and trusting implicitly.

 

Because, _friends._

 

That's what they are.

 

 

\-----

 

 

He ends up staying at her house. Well, her _aunt's_ house, who she swears is more like a mother to her anyway.

 

Oh and she's the sheriff.

 

_“_ _Did I not tell you that?”_

_“_ _No Caroline. No you didn't.”_

\-----

 

**October 17 th 2012**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

The answers come slowly.

 

Two months after she walks back into his life he finds out who turned her:

 

_“_ _Katherine?”_

_“_ _Yep.”_

_“_ _Katherine Pierce?”_

_She's still painting her toes, “Unless you know of another psychotic, selfish bitch who's a dead ringer for the love of your life?”_

_“_ _But how? That means . . .”_

_“_ _Ah crap, now I have to do that toe again. Can you pass me the remover?”_

_“_ _Huh, what? Sure.”_

 

She changes the subject then and he doesn't get the rest of his answers. Not until he brings it up again two weeks later;

 

_“_ _You grew up in Mystic Falls?”_

_Caroline laughs, “I thought you'd figured that out already. And here I thought people were just underestimating how smart you really are.”_

_“_ _Shut up.” And then, “But I don't remember you.”_

_“_ _Well, no you wouldn't, we moved around a lot, and I think the most I spent there was a long summer once when I was a kid.”_

_He frowns, “But then when did Katherine turn you?”_

_“_ _1864\. She stumbled upon our carriage while we were heading out of town and she was heading in. She killed my parents but spared me. Well, if turning me into a monster counts as sparing me.”_

_“_ _I'm sorry,” he says, voice heavy._

_She looks up at him, reaches a hand to smooth the creases on his forehead with her fingers, “It's okay.”_

_The look in her eyes tells him it's not._

_He doesn't say anything, just pulls her into a hug and hopes he never has to see that look again._

 

It's later in October that he finally gets to the bottom of her deal with Klaus.

 

He's walking the town square when he spots them.

 

The clench of his fist is instinctive and he's ready to speed himself over there, but then she's shaking her head and walking away. Klaus watches her back, spots him in the distance, smirks knowingly in his direction before vanishing.

 

“Hey,” she says when she spots him, the annoyance fading from her expression as she does.

 

“Hey,” he says, trying to steady his own voice and heart rate.

 

She threads an arm through his and doesn't give him an explanation.

 

But he needs one and he isn't letting it drop, “So what was that about?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Caroline.”

 

“Fine, just a reminder.”

 

“A reminder of what?”

 

She doesn't answer him until they round the corner, “That he's just biding his time, letting me live my life until I get bored, because he's oh so sure I will, and then . . .”

 

“And then?”

 

“Then I'll go to him, because as he likes to remind me again and again, he intends to be my last.”

 

“Last what?”

 

“Last love.”

 

He bristles with the assumption and it must show on his face.

 

She pats his arm, “Exactly. Who says I'm actually ever going to settle down in the first place?”

 

“Oh,” he says raising his eyebrows, a smile tugging on his lips, “You're planning on not falling in love, are you?”

 

“Or,” she drawls, “I'm just gonna keep dating, moving on from one person to the next, sowing my oats . . .”

 

He laughs out loud, the amusement taking over his entire face, “You really are a heart-breaker, aren't you?”

 

The smile on her face freezes and he doesn't understand. Not until she asks,

 

“We never did talk about that evening.”

 

It takes a good few moments, but by the seriousness of her expression, he thinks he knows just what it is she's talking about.

 

Sticky summer heat, blood and compulsion, and hundreds more names to add to his wall. And a confession whether he knew it or not.

 

He nods, breathes out a “No, we never did.”

 

She doesn't ask the question, but it hangs there.

 

_Did you mean it?_

“I lied,” he lies.

 

She searches his face for a long minute, before nodding, “Good.”

 

 

\-----

 

**September 30 th 2015**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

 

Another Brit.

 

Another one.

 

If he hears him call her “Love” one more time, he's going to punch him. Real hard and break his fucking jaw.

 

Enzo. What the hell kind of name is that anyway? And of course, _of course_ , he's a friend of Damon's. Figures.

 

He doesn't even know he's doing it.

 

Standing there, glowering in a corner of the Salvatore Boarding House in the middle of a freakin' dinner party.

 

She doesn't even notice. Sitting there on the sofa, throwing her head back in laughter while _Lorenzo_ looks at her like she's hung the moon and stars.

 

“Who knew?”

 

He doesn't even hear the question, but then Damon carries on talking and he's not given much choice, “Who knew Lexi 2.0 could be so much fun? Between you and I, I think I prefer the upgrade.”

 

Stefan turns his glare towards his brother, and Damon raises his arms in mock surrender, “Sorry. Sore subject still, I get it.”

 

He doesn't respond, but then Damon never did know how to take a hint.

 

He can still feel him burning holes into the side of his face, “So, wanna explain dear brother, why you look like you're seconds away from going all Ripper of Monterey on my buddy Enzo?”

 

He doesn't give him a chance to answer.

 

No, because he answers for him, “Oh I know! Could it be Saint Stefan's jealous?”

 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he denies instantly.

 

Because he's not. He's concerned. He's worried. All friendly things, and completely normal. Acceptable even.

 

“Oh I think you are, little brother. Oh and for a bonus ten points to Slytherin, I think . . . ” he drawls out, “you're in love with her. You're in love with Blondie.”

 

He doesn't say a word.

 

“Aren't you?”

 

Damon's smug smile is looking back at him, and he can't even form the word _no_ in his head to shape the word with his lips.

 

Instead, he snatches the bottle of bourbon from Damon's grasp and walks out the room.

 

Because, yes.

 

Damn it all to hell, the answer is _yes._

\-----

 

 

**December 31 st 2015**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

 

 

 

 

She's beautiful, sparkling under the stars and bright moon.

 

She has her arms wrapped around her bare arms, her dress fluttering around her knees as she bounces on her feet.

 

They're standing out on the town square, waiting for the New Year's countdown.

 

“Some would think you've never seen fireworks before in your entire life,” he comments, coming to stand next to her as she looks up at the night sky, a wide smile on her face.

 

He feels her tense beside him, and the smile falters and it feels like a splinter under his skin.

 

“So,” she says, “Decided to stop avoiding me, have you?”

 

He shakes his head, “I wasn't avoiding you.”

 

“Oh really? Says the guy who literally ran in the opposite direction last week when he saw me in the shops.”

 

He scratches behind his ear, has the decency to look back at her shame-faced, “In my defence -”

 

She folds her arms across her chest, turns slightly on her heels and raises her brows.

 

“Yeah, no I have no defence.”

 

She looks away again and mutters, “Right.”

 

He rocks back on his heels, and breathes out, “Look, I just had a lot going on in my head, and I needed space to think about it.”

 

And that's all he can give her, and she knows him well enough to realise it too.

 

He can see the anger blow out of her and she visibly deflates, “Fine.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes really.”

 

He shakes his head, gives her a huge smile, which she returns.

 

Taking off his jacket, he places it around her shoulders, watches as she pulls it closer around her and breathes in.

 

His heart races away at the sight of her and he realises that it always had.

 

“Don't go getting any ideas about kissing me at the stroke of midnight, though,” she says interrupting his thoughts.

 

“Never thought about it once,” he lies.

 

The town square starts filling up, and he sees their friends dotted around, catches sight of Damon and his crazy eyebrows wriggling about, insinuating who knows what.

 

For a small town, there sure are a lot of people and he finds himself pushed closer to Caroline in the crowd. He thinks he hears her heart stutter, but that may have been his.

 

The countdown starts, and he feels it again.

 

Twenty years later.

 

A nervous energy prickling under his skin, that has him shifting his body around to face her, screaming 'to hell with consequences.'

 

She senses it too, turns to face him, the question in her eyes turning to slow realisation.

 

He kisses her before they hit 'one.'

 

And it feels like home.

 

There are fireworks going off again above them, but he thinks they're exploding somewhere a lot closer, like in his chest, behind his ribcage, against his heart. Doesn't help things either as she starts kissing him back.

 

Just like then.

 

And just like then, it's over too soon.

 

She's pulling away from him, and the words that fall out of her mouth are ashes and smoke, “You shouldn't have done that.”

 

“Caroline, I-”

 

“Don't,” she says, shaking her head, fingers pressed against his lips, stopping the words on his tongue and breaking his heart.

 

She steps back, “I have to go.”

 

He steps forward, “Where are you going?”

 

She doesn't answer, “I'll, um, I'll talk to you later, okay?”

 

 _No you won't,_ he thinks.

 

To her credit, this time, she makes no promises.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Her room is bare and empty the following morning.

 

Somehow, he's not surprised.

 

 

\-----

 

**July 13 th 2020**

**Paris** **, France**

 

 

 

 

It's days like these that he wonders if he's as bad as Klaus.

 

Running after a woman, who's made it clear she wants nothing to do with him.

 

It's different, though.

 

It is.

 

Because he thinks she loves him too, and he's damned if he's going to wait another decade, ten decades, to stumble upon her by chance and find out for sure if she feels the same, to know for certain if there's any hope.

 

He's promised himself, if she says no, says she doesn't love him, he'll let her go. He will.

 

He just needs to know.

 

And that's how he finds himself standing in front of an apartment building on the left bank of the River Seine, around the Sorbonne, debating whether to ring the door bell. The other question was which door bell? Bonnie had only given him the building's address, hadn't known more than that.

 

He paces there, ignoring the curious and suspicious glances of the locals and tourists alike.

 

He doesn't know how long he waits there. Eventually he stops pacing, takes a seat on the steps and waits.

 

The sky is turning dark, and the street lamps are starting to come on when he hears it;

 

“Stefan?”

 

He looks up, and there she is.

 

The glow of the lights and the setting sun behind her, light up her blonde curls, and the image strikes a chord somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but the thought is long forgotten at the expression on her face.

 

She tames it in a second and asks, “What are you doing here?”

 

“I decided to take fate into my own hands for a change.”

 

There's a moment where he thinks she may just turn him away at her doorstep, but she doesn't. Instead, she moves past him, pulls out her keys and unlocks the front door. She looks back at him, “Come in.”

 

He follows.

 

Her one-bed apartment is small and cosy. It's neat and organised, just like her, and he sees her in every corner of it.

 

“Coffee?” she asks.

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Blood bag?”

 

“No thank you.”

 

She takes a seat at her little breakfast-slash-dining table, places her hands on her lap and looks around her, “It's not much, but I like it.”

 

He doesn't say anything.

 

And she keeps on talking, questions from, “Have you climbed the Eiffel Tower yet?” to suggestions, “There's this café, just outside Notre Dame, you need to try their coffee, it's amazing!”

 

And still he says nothing.

 

It's not until she's rambling about college life here in Paris and some of the new friends she's made that he snaps.

 

“Why?”

 

It's harsh and sounds ten times louder in the small space.

 

She doesn't feign misunderstanding and he's glad for it. He's barely hanging on by a thread.

 

Except she doesn't answer his question, throws the accusation back in his face, “You broke the rules! You! So you don't get to be mad!”

 

“I broke the rules? I broke them? What rules, Caroline?!”

 

He's standing up now, shouting, knows the whole building can probably hear them, but just doesn't care.

 

She's standing too, closer than she's been in years, and then she finally answers him. Yells it in his face;

 

“The one where you're not supposed to fall in love with me!”

 

It's silent then. Nothing but heavy breathing and he can feel the anger, the emotion vibrating between them.

 

“Why?” he asks quietly, voice barely holding together.

 

She's crying now and it hurts.

 

_It hurts._

“Why?” he asks again, reaching up and wiping away her tears.

 

“It'll kill you.”

 

And he's confused, doesn't understand, but she hasn't finished, “Everyone . . . Everyone I love, I've ever . . .”

 

And he thinks he gets it now.

 

She doesn't have to finish the end of her sentence, he knows how it ends.

 

_Dies._

 

_Leaves._

_Chooses someone else._

He understands all of them, he does.

 

With over three hundred years between them, they've lived enough to have felt it all.

 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he says, lifting her face, both hands cupped around her cheeks, “Caroline, I'm not.”

 

He wills her to believe it, drops his forehead to hers and just breathes in time with her as the sobs stop, and her breath leaves her lips even. Her eyes are closed, lashes still wet with tears and clumping together.

 

He kisses her eyelids, then her cheeks, every water trail staining her skin before finally stopping a hairbreadth away from her lips and simply breathes her in.

 

This time, _she_ closes the distance.

 

This isn't like before, stolen kisses in the heat of the moment.

 

No, this is the beginning of something, an eternity, and he can feel it in the way she trembles against him, though he thinks he's shaking just as much.

 

He tangles his hands in her hair and she steps into him.

 

The kiss grows deeper, a clash of teeth and sweeping tongues. She tastes of salty tears, burnt coffee and blood and home. Her fingers are restless and indecisive, roaming everywhere all at once. She tugs at the hem of his shirt, and he obliges, steps back only a second to pull it off before dropping his mouth to her neck.

 

She grabs the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair keeping him in place. “Bedroom,” she whispers in his ear, and he doesn't need telling twice. He picks her up in his arms, and by her gasp he thinks he takes her by surprise when he opts to lift her bridal style. She wraps her arms around his neck and squeals with the sudden lack of contact with the ground.

 

“Seriously?” she asks.

 

“Yep,” he grins.

 

Her girlish giggle is music to his ears. It's light and freeing, reminds him of wind chimes and he's not quite sure why.

 

He spins on the spot, and she laughs again, “That door. Jeez Stefan, only two doors, one bathroom, the other the be-”

 

He kisses her again, finds his way there easy enough and kicks the door shut behind him.

 

He can tell she wants to protest at having her words cut short. She always did hate being interrupted. But he turns those protests to moans and sighs and makes her forget why she's mad in the first place.

 

They start off slow and sweet and Caroline grows impatient and he laughs into her skin, promises her they have forever.

 

“Promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

He wakes to an empty bed in the morning.

 

And for a second, fear claws at his chest but then she walks in, dressed in nothing but his t-shirt, juggling two cups of coffee and a blood bag in her mouth and he literally breathes a sigh of relief.

 

When she drops the bag onto the bed, and places the coffee cups down, she looks at him incredulous, “Did you honestly believe . . . that I . . . ?”

 

He looks back at her with a sheepish grin.

 

“Unbelievable!”

 

He barely avoids the pillow she throws at his head.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**December 24 th 2025**

**Mystic Fall, Virginia**

“Hey! Hands off!”

 

She slaps at his hand and he stands there clutching it to his chest, doing his best wounded impression, except she's having none of it.

 

She's not paying any attention whatsoever.

 

No, all her focus is on her damn baking trays and the damn cookies he's not allowed to have.

 

He stands behind her, wraps his arms around her waist and props his chin on her shoulder.

 

He can see the corner of her mouth flicker, quickly followed by another crease in her forehead as she tries to concentrate even harder.

 

He blows into her ear which only gets him an elbow in the gut, “Stop distracting me.”

 

“One. Just one.”

 

“No.”

 

“I'm sure Santa won't mind.”

 

“And now you're just mocking me.”

 

“No I'm not.”

 

“Yes. Yes you are.”

 

“It's just, _Santa_? Really?”

 

“We've been over this. Every. Year,” she spins in his arms, blocking the cookies from view, “Look, if vampires, ghosts, werewolves and hybrids, if doppelgängers and witches can exist, then why can't Santa be real?”

 

“And Rudolph?”

 

“And Rudolph.”

 

He shakes his head, smiling wide, “A hundred and seventy eight years and still you believe, amazing.”

 

“I am, aren't I?”

 

He laughs, presses his lips to hers, “Yes you are.”

 

When she pulls back, he can't help it, can't help but ask, “So . . . one?”

 

She sighs in that way that tells him he's completely hopeless but she loves him anyway. She doesn't turn back, blindly grabs a cookie and then jams it in his mouth.

 

“Happy?”

 

“Very,” he says, although it doesn't sound like that at all what with his mouth being full.

 

But he means it.

 

He really does.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**October 10 th 2027**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

 

 

 

 

He tries to surprise her.

 

But hiding anything from Caroline is Mission Impossible.

 

It's her birthday and she's a hundred and eighty years old, and he definitely doesn't lead with “Happy hundred and eightieth birthday!” because despite what Damon says, he _does understand women_.

 

Mostly.

 

The present he gets her is an open ended plane ticket to Italy and though she absolutely loves it, she's confused. He can tell by the way the word “Wow” shapes her lips and by the little crease in her forehead as she looks down at it.

 

Still, she accepts it with grace and sits and waits for him on the sofa, wine glass in hand, as he returns their finished dinner plates to the kitchen.

 

She pats the seat next to him when he comes back, and he takes the spot as requested.

 

Leaning in close, she says, “I really do love it. I've always wanted to go.”

 

“I'm glad,” he says, but the words are half lost when she kisses him, one hand sliding across his chest and slipping under his jacket.

 

He almost doesn't notice.

 

Almost.

 

His hand grasps hold of her wandering hand and keeps it in place. Drawing back, he looks at her with raised eyebrows and she's the perfect picture of innocence.

 

Stefan doesn't let go, not until she admits it.

 

“Oh come on,” she groans, head falling onto the back-rest.

 

“Caroline?”

 

“I saw the box, okay?! I saw it! But I promise, I didn't look . . .”

 

He's laughing.

 

“I didn't okay?!”

 

He lets the hand gripping hers slide down her bare arm and tangles his fingers with hers, before reaching inside his jacket with his other hand. He retrieves said little velvet box and he can literally feel her holding her breath with it.

 

“You know I had this flowery speech all prepared, but I don't think I'm gonna bother now . . .”

 

She pouts, but he can see the excitement bursting from her eyes.

 

He flips the lid open, and her response is everything he'd ever dreamed of.

 

There, sitting in the middle, cushioned safely, is a sparkling engagement ring.

 

“It's blue,” she says.

 

“I know, I uh, don't know why, but I saw this and I just thought -”

 

“It's perfect.”

 

It's a silver ring with a dark blue crystal set and it reminds her of something she once had and it's absolutely _her._

 

“Yes!”

 

“Caroline . . .”

 

“Yes!”

 

He laughs, “Let me ask the damn question, okay?”

 

She nods, “Okay.”

 

“Caroline?”

 

She nearly blurts out yes again, but clamps her mouth shut.

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

Silence.

 

“Now you can say it!”

 

“Yes!”

 

 

\-----

 

 

**June 22 nd 2028**

**Florence** **, Italy**

 

 

 

 

She gets the June wedding she'd always dreamed of.

 

He makes sure of it.

 

Planned to perfection, no detail spared.

 

She makes a stunningly beautiful bride, beaming bright and so _so_ happy.

 

He marries her, his best friend, his perfect dance partner, the love of his life, under the setting sun of the Italian sky.

 

They promise each other forever with an exchange of vows, rings and a kiss.

 

It's a day they remember for just as long.

 

An anniversary of the day they met.

 

Not that either one of them knows that.

 

Not for a long time yet.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**March 27 th 2035**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

 

 

 

 

Forever, though, nearly comes to a screeching halt years too soon.

 

Father Adams had lied.

 

His mother wasn't with the angels.

 

No, she'd become a monster in death.

 

Just like him.

 

Lily Salvatore had been wreaking havoc on Mystic Falls for three years now, trapping them within the town borders, and everyone in it held there at her mercy.

 

He wishes, now, more than ever he'd listened to Caroline when, in her post-wedding night glow, she had stood on that balcony staring up at the cloudless sky and asked him why they couldn't just stay there forever.

 

He wishes, now, more than ever, he'd answered her differently.

 

“Stefan? Stefan?”

 

Damon's face is blurry and he can't hear a thing. It's like his head is underwater and he can't bring it up. He can't breathe.

 

“Stefan!” He shakes him hard, “Snap out of it!”

 

He tries to focus as Damon grasps hold of his face and forces him to look back.

 

“Caroline . . .” is the only word he manages to choke out.

 

Damon nods, “I know, brother. I know, but she's gonna be fine okay? Bonnie has a plan. She's gonna be fine. You _have_ to believe that.”

 

He can barely look at her.

 

She's too still, too quiet, lying across the room on the floor, around the remnants of chaos and destruction Lily and her Heretics have left in their wake.

 

The slightest rise and fall of her chest is the only thing that lets him know she's still there, still alive, but she won't open her eyes.

 

“Why won't she open her eyes?”

 

Damon shakes his head, doesn't answer.

 

Because he doesn't know.

 

No one knows a thing.

 

“Listen,” Damon says, hands leaving his face to grab hold of his shoulders and squeeze, “Take your wife home, stay with her and let Bonnie, Elena and I deal with this. We'll fix it.”

 

Stefan looks back at his older brother and simply trusts.

 

As he always had as a little boy, he trusts his older brother to fix it, to save the day, because right now? He can't.

 

“Okay.”

 

He gets to his feet slowly. They're heavy and clumsy as he walks over to Caroline, lying there, pretty in pink on what was supposed to be a regular Friday date night and she was supposed to be flushing bright with the wine, laughing at his awful jokes and he'd tell her over and over just how much he loves her.

 

He picks her up, one arm behind her neck, her knees folded over the other, and carries her home.

 

Carries her to the house they'd bought several months after they'd married. It had been several months only because the honeymoon had gone on for just as long. There had been so many places Caroline wanted to see, and though he had seen a lot of them already, it was something else sharing it all with her. In turn, she had shared some of her favourite places, and the time had flown by in a blink of an eye.

 

When he gets home, the house feels unbearably empty. He climbs up the stairs to their bedroom and gently lays her down on the bed they share.

 

Slipping off her shoes, he drapes a blanket over her bottom half, draws the curtains and just sits there, beside her.

 

Hours pass and he doesn't move.

 

The sun sets and rises, and a ray sneaks its way through the slightest gap in the curtains and falls across her. It takes a lot of energy and willpower, but eventually he stands to close it, but then he sees it. A tiny glare in the corner of his eyes.

 

It's sunlight catching her ring.

 

Her engagement ring that she still wears along with her wedding band. The blue crystal sparkles under the light and he's struck by a memory.

 

It's hazy at best and he can't remember the details.

 

It's a feeling more than a memory, and suddenly he knows there's something he needs to find.

 

Walking over to their shared cupboard, he opens it. He's struck by the distinctive smell of the clothes, it's a combination of him and her and he has to take a second to breathe.

 

There's a stack of old boxes at the back, boxes he'd brought over from the boarding house when they'd moved. Sentimental odds and ends, and Caroline had laughed at him, huffed out a “Fine! But they better not take up all the space in my wardrobe!”

 

Somehow, he just knows which box it is he's looking for. He pulls it out, along with years of dust, and lifts the top.

 

He doesn't have to look very hard, it's there, blinking up at him.

 

Picking it up, he walks back over to the bed and sits down beside her.

 

Gently he uncurls her fingers, opens up her palm and drops it there.

 

It's a silver chain with a blue pendant.

 

The crystal matches the dark blue of her ring, almost as if they were always meant to be a set.

 

He doesn't know why he says it, but the words leave his lips in a whisper;

 

“It'll keep you safe.”

 

Except, he thinks bitterly, he probably should have given it to her long ago.

 

Then maybe she wouldn't be here, like this, now.

 

 

\-----

 

 

Days pass, and nothing happens.

 

Damon tells him that they got Lily to get her evil disciples to reverse the spell, and that she should wake up. Any minute now

 

Except she hasn't.

 

She will, he tells himself.

 

She has to.

 

 

\-----

 

 

**April 2 nd 2035**

**Mystic Falls** **, Virginia**

 

 

 

 

And she does.

 

It takes several, long, agonising days.

 

But she does.

 

He's fallen asleep by her side, head pillowed in his arms when he feels fingers stroking through his hair. It takes a moment for realisation to dawn, the movements so soothing it almost lulls him back to sleep.

 

It slowly sinks into his exhausted mind, manifests as a sudden thump in his chest as his heart rate picks up.

 

He lifts his head and finds two beautiful, blue eyes staring back at him.

 

“Hey,” she croaks out, her mouth dry, tongue slow, from days of disuse.

 

“Hey,” he chokes out, throat clogged up.

 

It must be all over his face, because she breaks into a small, reassuring smile, reaches out a hand to cover his stubble covered cheeks, “I'm okay.”

 

And it's enough for the dam to burst and he literally leaps up onto the bed and crushes her to his chest. He may be crying, he's not sure. There's also a whole stream of incoherent words tumbling out of his mouth, and it doesn't make any sense. But she gets it. Gets him. Just like she always has.

 

Just like when she'd had him pegged in a 1920's speakeasy, hiding behind a darkness as it was easier than facing his demons and told him he was better than that.

 

Just like when she'd forced him to stay through a five hour concert because she knew he needed it. Needed some fun and laughter and to learn how to smile again.

 

Just like when she'd walked back into his life knowing he needed a friend, because the rest of the world had let him down.

 

He thinks she's the only person who has ever, truly known him.

 

She holds him against her chest, cheek pressed against his hair, and they stay like that for as long as it takes for her to persuade him that she's there, and she's breathing and all remnants of Heretic magic has left her system.

 

It's a lot later then when she groans and tells him that she needs to get up.

 

And it may be entirely selfish of him, but he protests, “No.”

 

“Stefan,” she laughs.

 

He holds her a little tighter.

 

“Stefan,” she says again, “I need to pee.”

 

He smiles into her and finally lets go, rolling onto his back, watches as she gingerly sits up and swings her feet around.

 

There's a small clunk as she stands. She frowns, bends down at the waist and goes to pick up the offending item that must have fallen out of the bed as she'd moved.

 

She goes completely still.

 

“Caroline?”

 

She spins around to face him, eyes locked on the blue pendant hanging from her fingers.

 

She doesn't say anything.

 

“Caroline?” He sits up, shuffles to the edge of the bed, so he's sitting there staring up at her.

 

“Where did you get this?”

 

Confused, he stares down at the sparkling crystal, “I'm not sure, I can't quite remember. I've had it for ages, since I was kid. Someone once told me it would -”

 

“Keep you safe,” she finishes for him quietly.

 

And at her expression, it starts to come back in snippets and glimpses. She's standing there in front of him, sunlight streaming in from the window behind her, lighting up her blonde curls as if they're aflame.

 

“A little girl,” he says then.

 

She looks back at him, eyes holding his. And they're the same.

 

“I'd hurt my ankle, and she gave me the necklace, told me it would keep me safe. She said she'd come back for it, she -”

 

“Promised,” she says, eyes wide and he can see them tearing up.

 

“Yeah,” he breathes out in complete amazement.

 

“I did. I went back, but you were gone.”

 

He swallows, “Damon. He found me, took me home.”

 

He stands up then, gently takes the chain from her hand, unclasps it to place it around her neck and fasten it back up.

 

Caroline's hand comes up to touch the pendant resting against her chest, and she smiles beautifully, “Better late than never.”

 

He laughs.

 

“You kept your promise,” he marvels, hands coming down to hold her waist.

 

She, in turns, wraps her arms around his neck, “I'll always come back to you.”

 

Dropping his head against hers, he asks, because how can he not?

 

“Promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

 

\----

 

 

And it's a promise, he's glad to say, she keeps.

 

 

\-----

 

 

 **End.**  

 

 

 


End file.
